


a day may come (but not yet)

by fadagaski



Series: Inappropriate Vehicular Activity [2]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Car Sex, F/M, Kissing, Light Angst, Magically Disappearing Guns, Penis In Vagina Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reunion Sex, Wasteland OTP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 14:17:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5051656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadagaski/pseuds/fadagaski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Furiosa holds her vigil, waiting for Max to return from his mission. The reunion is warm and sweet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a day may come (but not yet)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Captains_Orders](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captains_Orders/gifts).



It’s late, moon high and full round, and Max is not yet home. Furiosa waits at the ramp, arm on and three guns strapped to her person. There’s a fierce tension to her, for all that she doesn’t pace. With her alabaster skin, she could be a statue carved from moonlight, an angel of death watching over weary travellers of the night.

One traveller, at least.

Eyes fixed on the horizon, scanning methodically back and forth. Max was meant to be home at sunset. He did not come. There is nothing out there to suggest that he will come tonight. 

This is the deal they all must live with, those who are born in the Wasteland. To make connections, to form relationships, to be _human_ \- there’s a cost. Max goes into the Wasteland, and she lets him. One night, a night like any other, a night like this, he might not come home. She won’t ever know why. 

...

There, on the skyline, much further east than he should’ve been. Two flares of pure white - friend of Citadel, not pursued. It can only be Max. Furiosa’s heart drops down a gear, the tension in her shoulders unwinding, abs unclenching. She can breathe for the first time since he left five days ago.

His car rolls up with a crunch of sand, the engine already switched off. He’s out before the handbrake has settled, and Furiosa meets him halfway, and the heat of his mouth in the cold desert is electrifying. She licks into him hungrily, hands clenching his jacket as he wraps one hand around her head, tilts her just so, the sliding grind of lips and tongue enough to send warmth pooling in her belly. She backs him up against the car, heavy bang of guns against the chassis, latches her teeth into his neck and sucks a blooming bruise into the flesh there. He grips her waist hard with flexing fingers, more solid and real than the faint dreams that have kept her company in his absence. He tastes of salt-sweat and desert-wind and something purely him, and she _wants_.

Handful of his jacket and she drags him to the back of the car, and like always he can read her moves. He opens the door with a hand behind his back , keeps her close with one palm cupping her cheek and his mouth pressed to hers. Steers her around so that she can scoot in backwards and he follows her in, never once breaking the heady pleasure of their kiss.

The door clunks shut behind him. They are wrapped in a comforting blanket of metal, and the smell of Max in the seats and the air and hot above her is like a shot of chrome. Furiosa is dizzy with it, pulls him down onto her, a heavy grounding weight. He bites at her neck, a matching mark to his own, his breath rough and greedy in her ear, and Furiosa moans low in her throat. Wraps her leg around his hip and pulls him closer, to the core of her where she is wet with desire. Grinds her hips in a delicious roll that has them both gasping.

Furiosa’s got no patience left - it’s been days, and she has missed him in all the ways she never thought she’d get to miss anyone - and Max is right there too. He helps wrestle her pants down, gets the left leg as far as her boot and the right just far enough to cut into her thigh. It’s easy for her to reach inside the front flap of his pants, grab hold of his cock in her flesh hand (he grunts a little whimper that sends shivers racing across her skin) and ease it out, thick throbbing heat and the slick gleam of precome at the head. She rubs her thumb across the tip - Max thrusts forward, eyes squeezed shut, hands hard on her thighs. Furiosa smirks at his heated glower, lifts her hand and licks the smear from her thumb. Max groans, ravages her mouth with a ravenous kiss. 

He has to scoot back to get the right angle, constrained by two pairs of pants and the confines of the car. Furiosa notices, in one of those strange moments of clarity between one thudding heartbeat and the next, that his peculiar cowlick is sticking straight up. She huffs a laugh, can’t help it, and he looks up through his eyelashes, perturbed and questioning. She smiles. He flicks her clit with his finger - when did his hand get there, she has presence enough to wonder, even as she moans wantonly. 

Shivering all over, Furiosa spreads her legs as much as she can. Max grabs his prick, guides it to her core. She’s biting her lip, hungry for it, breath hitching in her lungs with anticipation. He holds her hip with the other hand and slides home.

Oh. Ohhh. Full and thick with Max, surrounded and cradled by him, hips flush together and his mouth back on her, spit-slick and gentle. She wraps both her arms around him, pulls him so that - chest to chest - she can feel every gasping breath in his lungs, the thud of his heart beating against his sternum 

They rock together, equal movement, little thrusts that drag right over the special place inside her Max helped her find. His pants add a delicious, overwhelming friction against her clit. Furiosa finds herself gasping, gasping, spiralling higher much faster than she’s used to, shuddering all over as electricity sparks in her thighs and her belly and deep inside her. She’s whimpering and he’s grunting and it builds and builds until she can barely stand it, too much too much, and then it _breaks_ over her, a desert storm slamming into her in waves, and she’s crying out much too loud for the dead of night and she doesn’t care. Max is with her - always, _always_ \- groaning in her ear, hips rocking up and up and up as he spills. 

Their breaths are very loud in the metal box of the car. The night is cold, and the sweat on her skin is already chilling, but Max is solid warmth and all things male and familiar. Out there she has to be in control - for everyone who follows her, and also for herself too - but here in the car it is safe. Nothing can hurt her. 

Max shifts as if to move. Furiosa holds him still, and after a moment he relaxes, lets a large part of his weight press down on her. He is solid and real and home and whole and _home_. There’s cramp in her leg and her half-arm aches from the strain of her prosthetic. There’s wet mess smearing over the both of them where they’re joined. Furiosa cups the back of his skull, runs her fingers through his sweaty hair. Max presses a soft kiss to the pulse point in her neck and they breathe in the salty scent of them together.

They’ll get out eventually.

**Author's Note:**

> Captains_Orders and I speak the same language, that of smutty angst (or angsty smut, depending on the ratio). We have adopted personas to fully demonstrate this. She is Vending Trash. I am SmutGirl. It's a thing, idek.


End file.
